Sing a Song

Nikky loves to sing. We started with "You Are My Sunshine," and "Let Me Call You Sweetheart," but we recently branched out into the Great American Songbook.

It started one day when we were sitting out on the front porch. I had finished reading two chapters of "The Phantom Tollbooth," and we were sitting quietly enjoying the breeze. Ruth and Richard came out and sat down. Ruth was reminiscing about her sister, and remembering how the two of them would write down the words to popular songs and take them on car rides: songs like "Where or When," "There's A Small Hotel," "My Romance," and the like.

I closed my eyes, leaned my head on Nikky's shoulder, and started to sing: "It seems we stood and talked like this, before..." Ruth's eyes closed and she began to hum along. Nikky joined in -- the melody seemed to trigger something in her memory, and she looked at me, her eyes clear and sharp and brimming with tears: "They may come as good as you," she says, squeezing my arm, "but they don't come no better."

We sing through as many songs as I know, with Ruth filling in the words that I forget. "You are so good to me. You make me happy. God love you. You're my friend, my best friend," Nikky says, over and over. "God love you."